Note the symmetry in the curve. You get the same results whether the sigma is positive or negative. The odds of falling below –4 sigmas are the same as those of exceeding 4 sigmas, here 1 in 32,000 times.
As the reader can see, the main point of the Gaussian bell curve is, as I have been saying, that most observations hover around the mediocre, the mean, while the odds of a deviation decline faster and faster (exponentially) as you move away from the mean. If you need to retain one single piece of information, just remember this dramatic speed of decrease in the odds as you move away from the average. Outliers are increasingly unlikely. You can safely ignore them.
This property also generates the supreme law of Mediocristan: given the paucity of large deviations, their contribution to the total will be vanishingly small.
In the height example earlier in this chapter, I used units of deviations of ten centimeters, showing how the incidence declined as the height increased. These were one sigma deviations; the height table also provides an example of the operation of “scaling to a sigma” by using the sigma as a unit of measurement.
Note the central assumptions we made in the coin-flip game that led to the proto-Gaussian, or mild randomness.
Recall our discussions in Chapter 14 on preferential attachment and cumulative advantage. Both theories assert that winning today makes you more likely to win in the future. Therefore, probabilities are dependent on history, and the first central assumption leading to the Gaussian bell curve fails in reality. In games, of course, past winnings are not supposed to translate into an increased probability of future gains—but not so in real life, which is why I worry about teaching probability from games. But when winning leads to more winning, you are far more likely to see forty wins in a row than with a proto-Gaussian.
Remember that if either of these two central assumptions is not met, your moves (or coin tosses) will not cumulatively lead to the bell curve. Depending on what happens, they can lead to the wild Mandelbrotian-style scale-invariant randomness.
One of the problems I face in life is that whenever I tell people that the Gaussian bell curve is not ubiquitous in real life, only in the minds of statisticians, they require me to “prove it”—which is easy to do, as we will see in the next two chapters, yet nobody has managed to prove the opposite. Whenever I suggest a process that is not Gaussian, I am asked to justify my suggestion and to, beyond the phenomena, “give them the theory behind it.” We saw in Chapter 14 the rich-get-richer models that were proposed in order to justify not using a Gaussian. Modelers were forced to spend their time writing theories on possible models that generate the scalable—as if they needed to be apologetic about it. Theory shmeory! I have an epistemological problem with that, with the need to justify the world’s failure to resemble an idealized model that someone blind to reality has managed to promote.
My technique, instead of studying the possible models generating non-bell curve randomness, hence making the same errors of blind theorizing, is to do the opposite: to know the bell curve as intimately as I can and identify where it can and cannot hold. I know where Mediocristan is. To me it is frequently (nay, almost always) the users of the bell curve who do not understand it well, and have to justify it, and not the opposite.
This ubiquity of the Gaussian is not a property of the world, but a problem in our minds, stemming from the way we look at it.